


Patience, Perseverance and Duty

by Jenny_Starseed



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Army, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes thinks he knows all that can be known about Joan Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience, Perseverance and Duty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jetamors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetamors/gifts).



> Thanks to Ferret and [vtn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn) for beta-ing my work.

Joan finally convinced Sherlock to take a casual walk around Central Park with her. She would have preferred that Sherlock would have agreed to a run rather than a walk since running had far better benefits to his health as a recovering addict than walking. But it was an acceptable compromise and when it came to Sherlock she took what she could get. Joan was determined to get to know Sherlock a bit more but the man was more interested in talking about his working methods than any concrete facts about himself. The man was determined to be an eccentric man without a past or a history to speak of. After a few false starts asking about his childhood (he grew up in England), his favourite brand of cereal (Bran Flakes), siblings (won’t reveal if he has any), why he chose New York City (interesting crime rate), Joan settled for asking him about his work and how he can be so sure that his deductions about people were correct.

“It’s the little details that give clues to a person’s character,” he explained. “They’re more telling than anything they say about themselves. People often lie, obfuscate, minimize and maximize parts of their lives and bits of their character,” said Sherlock, gesturing to her with a swing of his coffee cup. “You, for example, are a typically overachieving Chinese American, third or fourth generation judging by your accent and your surname, Watson because first generation immigrants rarely marry outside their ethnic group. You exercise regularly, dress fashionably but not ridiculously, you eat organic fruit and you’re a doctor with an enthusiastic American can-do-if-I-work-hard attitude that is typical of an over-achiever.”

Sherlock’s assessment of her felt so much like a cliché of every pre-conception people had of Chinese Americans who happened to be doctors and she was tempted to find fault with it if it wasn’t so factually correct. She did like her organic blue berries and she couldn’t help her can-do attitude. It bothered her that Sherlock could dismiss her as a descriptive statistic of immigrant success. 

“That’s just the facts of my life. You can’t know everything about a person by just knowing the facts that anyone can look up on my Facebook page,” said Joan. She could feel the annoyance creep into her voice. 

“Of course not, Deductions about clothes and accents can only yield so much,” Sherlock blithely continued as though her protest was a mere nuisance. “Facts give me a grainy picture of the person in front of me that needs to be focused and clarified with detail garnered from spending time with the person. Assumptions from observations must be tested rigorously to build a coherent picture of Joan Watson where her every move can be predicted with relative accuracy. I am collecting information on you as we speak while you drink your overpriced green tea.”

Why was it that every time they talked had to be a platform for him to argue his point that he was brilliant while she was simplistically common? Joan didn’t say anything, hoping her stony silence would give him a clue as to how unacceptable his condescension was to her. 

“It’s not a slight on your character, Watson,” said Sherlock. It felt like a shoddy apology disguised as an explanation. It was unacceptable and she walked faster. She suddenly didn’t want him near her. Sherlock caught up to her with a casual ease that made her want to hit him. 

“I could tell you were remarkable and skillful from those first few days we met,” he continued. “Your attention to detail and your interpersonal skills are remarkable, which made you an excellent doctor. You’ve achieved more at the age of thirty-five than most would achieve by fifty. I’m sure your parents must be very proud of you. Did your parents have unfair expectations of you? It’s known that a lot of Chinese families expect a lot from their children. “

Joan stopped and turned to face him. “No, no. Don’t give me that,” said Joan, her voice tight with the effort to keep from shouting at Sherlock. “I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to help people. It had nothing to do with what my parents expected of me. I didn’t take piano lessons since I was five. My parents didn’t push me into going into the best schools, doing extracurricular activities for my resume and college essays or becoming a human encyclopedia of facts and figures. If I were to use your methods of observation and deduction, I could safely assume that what I’ve just described (the piano lessons and extracurricular activities) resembles your childhood, not mine.”

Sherlock answered by tilting his head to the sky and let out a dismissive chuckle. “That’s hardly--“

“The violin lessons.”

“I was not pushed into the violin. The violin is a magnificent instrument once you master it.”

“They wanted you to learn the piano then?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“So I’m right?”

“If I was to be completely accurate—“

“You’re hedging which means I’m right.”

After a moment, he said “fine. My brother Mycroft was the Piano prodigy. It seemed like a waste of time to have a second one in the house when the violin was so much more challenging physically.”

“Mycroft? Joan repeated. She felt the anger drain out of her when she suddenly had something to tease him about. “What kind of parents names their children Mycroft and Sherlock?” 

Sherlock continued as though he didn’t hear her. “And for your information, if I wanted to get ahead in Britain —and I never wanted to, by the way—I wouldn’t have to do any of the extracurricular activities that you’ve described. Cronyism doesn’t work like that in Britain. It’s all about who you went to school with and joining the correct clubs. A secret handshake and a nod will suffice in the place of all the trophies and awards Americans would have to win to get ahead.”  
Joan could tell Sherlock was defensive. Sherlock had just told her more about his life than he had for the three weeks she had known him. He never liked to talk in detail about himself outside of his working methods. It piqued her curiosity. She was about to ask him more when he abruptly changed the subject.

“So why did you decide to become a doctor, then, if it wasn’t because of your parents’ expectations?” asked Sherlock, it was obvious he didn’t like where the direction of the conversation was heading. “You said you wanted to help people. There are a thousand ways to help people that don’t include costly medical school and up to ten years of education. You’re not from a particularly wealthy family because you don’t have that whiff of privilege and money I know so well through the social osmosis of my youth. You put a premium on quality in the food you eat and the clothes you wear such as those Lulu Lemon yoga pants you have on now but you rarely purchase things out of frivolity. I imagine you do a cost-benefit analysis of every purchase you make but you’re modest about the expensive purchases that you are able to afford. This signifies a frugal habit that comes out of a modest family background which meant that paying your way through medical school was no mean feat. Considering the high cost of medical school, you likely wouldn’t have bothered to pursue it if you didn’t have a scholarship. Your parents have been proud on your graduation day.” 

“I wasn’t raised by tiger moms and dads, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” said Joan, crossing her arms. 

“Your body language tells me you’re defensive. There’s no need for that. You wanted to establish a comfortable professional relationship that has a strong basis in friendship. This quaint little morning walk is an effort to establish the foundations of a friendship through sharing and discovering common interests and values. I thought this was what we were doing. I apologize if you were offended by my harmless deductions.”

“I’m not a cliché.”

“I never said you were. Give me credit, Watson.”

“I liked helping people when they’re at their most vulnerable. People are worried and frightened when they’re injured and sick, and I wanted to make a living while contributing something to society. It seemed like a noble profession,” she explained, continuing her walk. “Like joining the Army,” she added, as if it was an afterthought. 

“Excuse me?” said Sherlock, stunned.

“You heard,” she said, feeling a bit smug for stumping Sherlock and giving him that delicious gaping-mouthed look. “You wanted to know how I got through medical school. The military has generous tuition grants after three years of service.”

“Why on earth would you want to fight in the US Armed Forces?” asked Sherlock. The concept of the petite and harmless Joan Watson joining the military probably seemed inconceivable to him, which only added to her feeling of smugness. 

“Because I could,” Joan said simply. “I was young, ambitious and I didn’t like to be told that I shouldn’t do something. A lot of my friends were appalled. They told me all sorts of horror stories on how women were treated in the army and some of them were true. But that didn’t stop me. I thought it would build character. And if I did my duty, the army would pay for a good chunk of my tuition fees. You were right that I had a scholarship, but it wasn’t a full scholarship, and the money the Army gave me nearly made up for the rest.”

“What did you do?”

“Whatever they needed me to do. At first it was things like patrolling villages or driving trucks and delivering weapons. Eventually, I worked in female engagement teams to talk to the local men and women to gain their trust and obtain information that was important to our missions. We would go into small towns and speak to the locals. To fight extremist groups in the Middle East, you need to find allies in the small towns. Sometimes it was extremely dangerous because you didn’t know if the little house you entered had a son who belonged to the Taliban or whether you’d find a grieving mother whose son was killed by the enemy. Being a woman in the Middle East has its advantages when religiously conservative families won’t let male foreigners talk to their wives and daughters. Wives and daughters can be easier to persuade than their husbands and sons who’ve seen a lot more blood and death than them. I wasn’t in any combat role on an official level, but you can bet I carried a badass M16 rifle and wore a bulletproof vest wherever I went. It was terrifying. Sometimes it was an ordinary day and the locals were friendly. Other times they were downright suspicious and cold and your primal fight or flight instincts kicked in. You had to rely on your gut feeling and your instincts to get you through it.”

Sherlock was looking like at her as if she was a new person. It embarrassed her now that she had said everything she wanted to say about the military. It felt like she was bragging even though she outlined the simple truth of what she did in the army. He seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate, like a good interrogator would. But she didn’t want to elaborate. There were many things Joan didn’t want to discuss about the military. She put it behind her Just as she did with her former medical career. She deleted and purged her personal military effects when her duty was over. She remembered the early feelings of isolation when she was in Basic Training. She was one of the few females in her Basic Training Group. She was one of the few females in her training group and the constant need to demonstrate her strength and to show no weakness was tiring on her. And the constant need to demonstrate her strength and to show no weakness was tiring on her. There were some sexist jokes and a few instances of unwanted flirtations but nothing as horrific as she heard from other female officers. She counted herself lucky. She was glad to be assigned to the female engagement teams, but the job was emotionally draining. The suspicion and the sad weariness of the women in the villages was what was exhausted her the most.

But she couldn’t say any of this to Sherlock, who was looking at her bright-eyed as a schoolboy who'd just found out his school teacher had done something cool. 

“It’s remarkable,” was all he said. 

They walked in companionable silence for a moment. Sherlock was obviously processing this new information about her and deciding what to do with it. Finally he said, “You came away unscathed. In the three weeks I’ve known you, you’ve shown no symptoms of PSTD and you’ve sustained permanent injuries to speak of. Statistically, that is remarkable.”

Joan had to stop herself from biting her lip. She didn’t want to give any indication this topic was more upsetting to her than she let on. “I was extremely lucky,” she said softly, before taking a breath to change the subject. “I think that’s enough about me for today. Now about you.”

“Me?”

She smiled, pleased to be settling back into teasing banter with Sherlock. “I want to hear some private school stories. I want to know if your school looked more like Oxford University or Hogwarts.”

“For your information, we call them public schools in Britain and another thing; I never made any promises to reveal my life for information on yours.”

“Come on, Sherlock. Give me one story. I practically gave you my life story just now.”

Sherlock hesitated. There was a small reluctant smile which meant Joan might have a fighting chance. 

“Please?”

“You’ve resorted to childish begging now?” 

“Yup. Is it working?”

“No.”

“I can tell you everything I know about sniper rifles if you tell me—”

“Now you’re getting crafty, Watson.”

Joan waited.

“Fine,” conceded Sherlock. “But only because this is useful for my work. How good of a marksman were you?”

Joan looked ahead. She remembered what it was like to walk into a crowded open space with a M16 rifle in her hand. The hot sun was on her back and every step with her heavy boots felt purposeful and cautious. She would scan the crowd for signs of threat while the adrenaline kept her alert. For a moment, she pretended she was on duty and mentally went through what she would do if she had to protect Sherlock from unseen enemies. The answer to his question was simple. With pride, she held her head up high and said, “I learned from the best and I was damn good.”

Sherlock grinned. “We could make a good team.”

“I think so too,” said Joan, without thinking about it. She had somehow agreed to be his partner without knowing it. She was already accompanying him on cases and it felt like a natural addition to her role as a sober companion. It wasn’t a terrible idea she thought as she watched the people go about their day. Some people were jogging, going to work or having a day out with their children. If these people were in trouble, she could help them. It would give her back the sense of purpose she had when she was a surgeon. The world seemed full of possibilities. 

She looked at her watch. It was close to lunch time. “Let’s get something to eat. I know a nice deli nearby. You owe me a story about your days in private school.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I told you, it’s called public school. And you haven’t told me what I wanted to know about sniper rifles. ”

“I know. I keep my promises. Now what was the name of the public school you went to?”

“Not until you tell me the make and model of the gun you used,” said Sherlock. He patted his pockets for his wallet dramatically to show her he didn’t bring any money. “And you’re paying for lunch.”

Now it was Joan’s turn to roll her eyes. Working with Sherlock won’t be easy. It will require all her patience and perseverance to work with him. But she was up to the challenge. She fought in a war. Everything was possible.


End file.
